


A natural liking

by dairyme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 07:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairyme/pseuds/dairyme
Summary: Crowley is a cuddler.





	A natural liking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mackem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/gifts).



> *crawls out of the woodwork*
> 
> I imagine this taking place in the cottage-in-the-South-Downs era.
> 
> Thanks to [Mackem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem) for dragging me back into this hole with her.

Aziraphale had sat on the bed as carefully as he could, but only a few moments passed before the bundle of blankets next to him shifted and slipped an arm across his lap.

He turned a page of his book delicately.

The blankets moved again, and Crowley's head emerged - the top of it at least, the absurd mess of his hair, his closed eyes.

A smile fought its way onto Aziraphale's face despite his efforts, but he took solace in the knowledge that Crowley couldn't see it. There was a strong possibility Crowley was still asleep, in fact; it wouldn't be the first time he had sought out physical contact and claimed not to remember doing so.

He could, of course, have been lying.

"Angel," said the blankets.

Aziraphale turned another page.

More of Crowley appeared: the rest of his head, the top of his shoulders, the skin bare where the neck of his thin cotton shirt was pulled askew. "Lie down."

"I'm reading."

"You can read lying down." His eyes were still closed, his face half pressed against Aziraphale’s hip.

Aziraphale allowed himself the lightest of touches - skimming his hand over the ends of Crowley’s hair. “Not as comfortably.” The book was small enough to hold in one hand, barely more than a pamphlet really, but in fragile condition and honestly it was the principle of the matter.

“What about my comfort?” Crowley shuffled closer until he, beneath the blankets, lay pressed fully along Aziraphale’s leg outside of them. His arm wrapped more firmly around Aziraphale’s middle, and he sighed against his hip. “Where did you go?”

For a long moment, Aziraphale’s attention was captured entirely by the warm breath against his side. His hand came to rest on the back of Crowley’s neck. Still such a novel thing. "Just to London. To meet a fellow about a book."

"You were a long time."

"You were sleeping, how do you know?"

"I _know_."

Aziraphale lay the book carefully down on the bed beside him and looked down at Crowley. A wave of fondness washed over him, as it often did, never less than overwhelming. All those centuries, he had never realised how tense Crowley had been until he saw him relaxed like this. "We had lunch."

A sliver of yellow as Crowley cracked one eye open. "The Ritz?"

Aziraphale smiled and finally threaded his fingers through Crowley’s hair, firmly and without guilt. "Only with you, my dear."

Crowley pushed himself upright, slow and graceful as a serpent, Aziraphale’s hand slipping easily down his back as he did so. He fit himself to Aziraphale’s body as if they had been designed for that very purpose, and pressed his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. Then his lips against Aziraphale's jaw, soft, then a brief separation before coming closer again to brush against his mouth.

How easy it was, to kiss Crowley. After all that time afraid - how easy it was to love him.

“Did you miss me?” said Aziraphale, when speaking was possible.

Crowley pulled a face, sliding back down into the blankets, dragging Aziraphale with him. "Of course not."


End file.
